


No Apologies Necessary

by vissy



Category: Here is Greenwood
Genre: Fujikake/Watanabe - Freeform, M/M, Yaoi Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-10
Updated: 2007-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vissy/pseuds/vissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Neither of us is sure how we’re supposed to go about this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Apologies Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Jain](http://jain.livejournal.com/), for the obscure fandom round of [Yaoi Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/yaoi_challenge/).

Hasukawa was no help, and Watanabe felt too shy to approach Hasukawa’s big brother at the Health Office, so Fujikake walked into the nearest drug store on the first day of the summer vacation, and then walked straight out again.

“Well, the insects’ll probably be bad this summer,” said Watanabe later, when Fujikake handed him a box of Kinkan pain relieving liniment.

“I also got a bottle of YunkerD Herbal, some Med Seirogan-S, some Sato Clear eye drops and a copy of Satsuki Kenkyuu,” said Fujikake, tossing the assorted items onto Watanabe’s bunk in despair. “It’s the only Satsuki-only magazine in the world, you know.”

“Oh?” Watanabe hadn’t realised Fujikake was into bonsai. It seemed like the sort of thing he probably ought to know about his future husband. He lay back and dug his toes into his crumpled sheets as he flipped through the magazine in some perplexity - it was filled with pictures of pretty, tiny azaleas and wizened enthusiasts - and decided he liked the thought of Fujikake’s mikans much better. “You really like this kind of stuff, Tatsurou?”

“No,” Fujikake groaned. The only pretty, tiny thing he loved was Watanabe, but he knew better than to say so; Watanabe was kind of sensitive about his size. Fujikake stormed over to the window and stared outside, where some of Greenwood’s summer contingent was lolling on the lawn in various stages of undress; he drew the curtains closed and turned away in frustration. “It was just the first thing I picked up. And then I grabbed all this other crap and pretty much blew my allowance because I was too chicken to even look at the condoms, much less take any to the checkout. I’m such a loser.”

“No!” cried Watanabe, tossing the magazine to one side. His face looked stern and beseeching in the dim light, sweaty from the heat, and when he held out a hand Fujikake took it, dropping to his knees at the bedside. “Tatsurou, you’re really brave. At least you had the guts to try.”

“I’m really sorry,” Fujikake muttered, uncurling Watanabe’s fingers and pressing his mouth against the damp, salty palm, against the delicate wrist. “I made an idiot of myself and I let you down.”

“Like you could,” said Watanabe softly, catching his fingertips along the uneven stubble on Fujikake’s cheek. Watanabe didn’t need to shave, and Fujikake hadn’t exactly got the knack of it yet, and it reminded Watanabe that maybe they were in a hurry for nothing, because they were babies, really. A couple of dumb kids who didn’t have a clue what they were doing.

Except that Fujikake sucked a finger into his mouth, practically inhaling it, and Watanabe just plain wanted him, wanted everything. He gripped Fujikake’s hair in his free hand, tugging him down, and Fujikake sort of laughed and coughed as Watanabe’s finger slid too far into his mouth. “‘M sorry,” Watanabe whispered, dragging his finger free, cross-eyed and mesmerised by the damp glitter of spit on his skin and then blind to it when Fujikake found his mouth.

Then it was Fujikake who said, “Sorry,” when he kissed Watanabe so long and hard that Watanabe forgot to breathe and started gasping for air. Fujikake released him and gave him maybe three centimetres of space; his wet brow stuck to Watanabe’s and his breath was a hot, desperate wash against Watanabe’s face. Watanabe could taste the McDonald’s fries Fujikake had eaten for lunch, could taste the hint of grease at the corner of his mouth, and it made him smile. His smile widened at the way the two of them couldn’t keep from apologising at each other the closer and clumsier they got, and he clenched his fingers in Fujikake’s hair, drawing him back into the kiss no matter how weird the fit was. Kisses didn’t seem to work quite right when he was grinning, but Fujikake made him so happy he couldn’t help it.

Watanabe had on an old t-shirt, thin and clingy, and their mouths were forced to separate when Fujikake realised he couldn’t wait another moment before getting at Watanabe’s skin. He pulled the t-shirt over Watanabe’s head, mussing his hair, and tossed the sweaty bundle up onto his bunk where he could stow it under his pillow for safekeeping and maybe nuzzle at it secretly in the night. His cheeks flushed beetroot at the thought, and then he remembered that with most of the dorm vacated they might even share a bunk for once, and he blushed even harder. The bunks were too small just for a guy of Fujikake’s size, so sharing would be awfully intimate; he’d have to figure out a way to curl about Watanabe’s small body and keep him safe and happy. His belly twisted with anticipation.

“What’re you looking so pleased about?” asked Watanabe, his hands wringing shyly over his chest.

“Just thinking what an amazing summer it’s going to be,” said Fujikake, straddling Watanabe’s waist, and then taking Watanabe’s wrists and pressing them back into the mattress as he licked and kissed his way across his humid, trembling skin. Watanabe was thin but wiry, his muscles stretching and shifting beneath Fujikake’s lips, and Fujikake wondered how he could have ever mistaken him for a girl. Watanabe was made pale and languid by the Tokyo summer, but he was tougher than his sweet appearance might suggest, and the insistent, hungry push of his erection was unmistakable.

Experience had already taught them to be as quiet as possible behind the thin walls of the dorm, but Watanabe couldn’t bite back the soft groans that Fujikake’s touch forced from him as he scraped his teeth along Watanabe’s collarbone and suckled possessively at his nipples, which were shy at first but pebbled up fast. Fujikake even nosed a tickly path into Watanabe’s armpits, making him giggle with bashfulness and pleasure; he must smell awful in the heat, but Fujikake seemed to like it a lot, licking at the damp hollows until he made Watanabe sob. When Fujikake’s hands showed signs of restlessness, Watanabe took advantage of his distraction and tugged free of his hold to wind his arms about Fujikake’s neck and dig his fingers between the enticing flex of his shoulder blades, only to shiver as he felt Fujikake slip lower. “Tatsurou -”

“Can I?” Fujikake asked, as he insinuated his knees between Watanabe’s. He touched Watanabe’s fluttering hands gently, and then tucked his fingertips just beneath Watanabe’s shorts, teasing at the prominent pelvic bones.

“I trust you,” whispered Watanabe, although he couldn’t help but shake a bit as Fujikake hoisted his legs in the air like he was a little kid to drag his shorts and underpants off. He could smell himself, strong with arousal and perspiration, and Fujikake crouched over him vigilantly, not letting him close his legs or cover himself. Fujikake had a grip on his ankles, angling his body so that Watanabe’s erection bounced wet and awkward against his belly, and even though Fujikake had seen him naked before, and had even got him off on several wonderful and unfortunately hurried occasions, Watanabe could still feel himself blush all over at his own vulnerability.

“You’re so beautiful,” said Fujikake, and then bit his lip against another apology, because that seemed like something you’d say to a girl, and he knew how much Watanabe resented that kind of thing. But he really couldn’t figure out how else to describe him. He shook his head in wonder, rubbing his cheeks absently against Watanabe’s legs. “I seriously can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I’m the lucky one,” said Watanabe, clenching his fists over his eyes. His face was fiery with embarrassment as he felt Fujikake stroke the length of his legs patiently, thoroughly, as if might devote his entire summer to them. Finally Watanabe tugged his right leg free and rubbed Fujikake under the chin with his big toe. “Just touch me, all right? I promise I won’t break.”

“I know you won’t,” said Fujikake, letting Watanabe’s legs fall slowly to either side until they splayed sweetly across the bed. He smiled when Watanabe’s cock sprang up, leaving a thin, liquid line on his belly through which Fujikake traced a teasing fingertip. He noticed Watanabe peeking between his hands, so he popped the wet finger in his own mouth, sucking it back and forth until Watanabe forgot to hide and simply stared at Fujikake with wide, begging eyes. Feeling a little amazed by his own boldness, Fujikake said, “Doesn’t mean I can’t try, huh?”

He hunched between Watanabe’s thighs and wrapped one hand around the base of Watanabe’s cock, which was much like his own, only better, because it was Watanabe’s. He stroked it the way he liked it himself, light and quick, like rock-paper-scissors, and then harder, more determined, because Watanabe had until today been fairly quiet about his preferences, although the breathless stream of, “Oh, please, please, _please_,” was promising. He licked the head of Watanabe’s cock for the first time, because it was too wonderful and new to resist, and then he sucked it into his mouth just to make Watanabe as crazy as he felt, bobbing his head as far as he could without coughing and thinking he might like to practise this for the rest of his life if Watanabe would just keep making that _noise_.

Watanabe mewled, his hips rolling uncontrollably until Fujikake pressed him down with his forearm, tightening his grip _there_. Watanabe wasn’t sure he could take much more of this; the hot, wet mouth made him desperate, and it was _Fujikake’s_ mouth, Fujikake who tasted like French fries and who smiled at him like he was something special. Then Fujikake’s shaggy head rose for a moment and their eyes met. Fujikake’s asked a question, and Watanabe must have still been babbling, ” - please, please, oh, please -” because Fujikake suckled at his finger again, then pressed it against the soft skin behind Watanabe’s balls, where he just kept on pressing until he found a whole new _there_, one Watanabe had been a bit apprehensive about until Fujikake pushed inside and Watanabe pushed back, and Fujikake crooked his knuckles, ducked his mouth and Watanabe left Greenwood somewhere far, far behind.

By the time he found his way back, Fujikake was looming over him, one hand braced next to Watanabe’s head and the other shoved down his own shorts, working so hard it was almost a blur to Watanabe’s dazed eyes. He reached out to touch, to help, and his name stuttered from Fujikake’s lips; the splash of semen across his belly was like a shock of summer lightning, and when Fujikake collapsed on him and crashed his mouth against Watanabe’s, Watanabe could taste his own semen on Fujikake’s tongue and smell it on Fujikake’s stubbled cheek. Watanabe decided he liked it.

Fujikake lipped happily at Watanabe’s sweet, glowing face until the heaving chest beneath his reminded him that he was too heavy. He wriggled between Watanabe and the wall, running a hand over Watanabe’s wet belly, and said contritely, “I’m sorry. Made a bit of a mess of it.”

“You’re worse off than me,” said Watanabe. He gave Fujikake a gentle poke in the side, and then laughed. “I should’ve got you naked too. Wasn’t that your last clean shirt?”

“Probably,” said Fujikake, pulling at the material dubiously. “I don’t think tissues will solve this problem.”

Watanabe was already wiping himself down, and Fujikake watched in transfixed appreciation until Watanabe hopped off the bunk with far too much energy and pulled on his shorts, muttering, “Where’d you throw my t-shirt?”

Fujikake blinked in bewilderment. “Are you going somewhere?”

“The drug store, of course,” said Watanabe, as he patted at the top bunk. He gave a little whoop when he found the t-shirt, then pulled it on with a grin. “We’re going to need a 12-pack of Okamoto condoms, and lubricant, lots of it. Something tells me spit’s not going to cut it.”


End file.
